


Nemeses

by Deifire



Category: Eerie Indiana
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 21:37:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8225524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deifire/pseuds/Deifire
Summary: "I'm your nemesis?"

  "I don't know what you are."





	

There were over one hundred and twenty-seven haunted structures in Eerie as of Marshall and Simon’s last count. As he blinked up at the rafters to clear the sleep from his eyes and took note of the cool breeze blowing through the cracks in the walls and over his bare skin, Marshall Teller began to come to terms with the fact he'd just woken up in good ol' number fifty-one. 

He checked his watch. Two fifty-seven a.m.

Aided by the glow the moonlight through the cracks, he began to feel around on the floor for his clothes. He located his jeans and one sock before he glanced over at the makeshift nest of blankets and pillows Dash was using for a bed when he crashed at the old mill these days.

Dash looked younger when he was asleep, despite all the grey hair that inevitably fell across his face. It was something in the way his features softened, instead of twisting into an expression that was always at least some part both calculating and suspicious. Without thinking, Marshall reached over to brush a few strands of hair out of Dash’s eyes.

He shouldn't have been at all surprised when Dash startled awake, flinched back, and knocked his hand away with a snarl. The reflexes of someone used to spending the night alone and almost never in a proper bed.

"...was asleep," Dash muttered, almost apologetically, after the initial surge of adrenaline seemed to have passed.

"Sorry," Marshall said. He found his boxers in the tangle of blankets and pulled them on.

Dash rubbed his eyes. "You going?"

"It's three in the morning." Marshall put on the jeans and looked around for his shirt. "Simon'll be worried."

"Shrimpenstein?" Dash yawned. "What, he’s expecting you back by curfew or something?"

"He's spending the night at my house. We were supposed to go to the World O' Stuff, then review those old blueprints of City Hall we found in the library basement. God, I hope he didn't just go home."

"I'm not sure I remember him leaving."

"It was while we were arguing. Somewhere between you giving me the list of reasons why I'm banned from ever coming back here again, and when I said, um..."

Dash laughed. 

As soon as he got home, Marshall was making a note to himself to the effect that "Fuck you" was the absolute wrong choice of words for him to ever use in an argument with Dash X. Not unless he wanted a repeat of the moment Dash had moved in closer and growled, "Go for it, Teller," and Marshall, against what remained of his better judgment, had...

"What are we doing?" he muttered to himself, as he finally located his other sock.

He wasn’t quite aware he’d spoken aloud until Dash answered in a tone of feigned surprise, "You mean you still don’t know? Seemed like you had a pretty decent grasp of the concept last night."

Marshall flushed, then smiled, hoping Dash could see neither in the low light. "That wasn’t what I meant," Marshall said, and threw one of the pillows at him.

Dash caught it, and put it under his head. "Good. I’m way too tired to draw you an explanatory diagram."

"It’s just," Marshall elaborated, before he could stop himself, "it's you."

"Last I checked, yeah."

"This is not the sort of thing people normally do with their nemeses."

"I'm your nemesis?" Dash asked, sounding sleepily pleased. 

"I don't know what you are." Which was true in more ways than one.

"You’re the one who started this, Teller," Dash said, revisiting an argument that went all the way back to their first disagreement about who'd kissed whom. "For all I know, this is an elaborate scheme on your part to get me out of my clothes so you can study me for research purposes."

"Be serious," said Marshall. He spotted his crumpled shirt by Dash’s shoulder and leaned across him to reach for it. "If that's what I wanted, there'd be easier ways to go about it."

"I am serious," said Dash. He grabbed Marshall and pulled him down, until Marshall was practically lying on top of him. "I bet even now you’re keeping track in your head of all the things you need to write in your evidence notebook the second you’re back in the Secret Spot."

"I am not!" There wasn't an evidence notebook for this. And it wasn't kept in the Secret Spot, because he didn't want to risk accidentally scarring his thirteen-year-old associate for life. There was just a regular notebook in which he'd covered pages trying to explain his relationship with Dash to himself. And okay, yes, there was some early speculation in there as to what exactly he'd find if he ever got Dash naked, as well as the occasional musing on some still-unanswered questions. (Was it weird Dash seemingly possessed no gag reflex whatever?) But it wasn’t like _that_.

Some of this must have showed on Marshall's face, because Dash laughed at him again. "You wouldn’t be Marshall Teller if you weren't."

He didn’t seem upset, though, as he brought their lips together. 

Marshall found himself relaxing into the kiss and into the feel of Dash's body beneath his. For the next several moments, everything between them was comfortable, familiar. Somehow, when they were together like this, nothing about their relationship to each other seemed weird. Which was probably the weirdest part.

Reluctantly, Marshall started to pull away. "Simon's going to be upset if I don't make it back soon."

"Well, we wouldn't want to upset Simon," Dash said, making a face, but relaxing his grip and letting Marshall up. 

As he pulled his shirt over his head, Marshall couldn't resist asking, "So if you really think I'm just doing this for research purposes, why do you let me? Why do you start this when you do?"

"Mmm." Dash closed his eyes, and fell back against the pillows. "Why not?"

"Um, because you hate me?"

"I don't hate you."

"That’s not what you were yelling at me last night."

"I yelled a lot of things last night." Dash waved a hand dismissively. 

"Does that mean I'm _not_ banned from ever coming back here?"

"Oh, no. Once you walk out that door, you're still banned forever on account of being generally insufferable." He watched Marshall's face for a few moments, then grinned. "Of course, I might be persuaded to make the occasional one-time exception on nights you’re willing to put out."

Marshall rolled his eyes. "We'll see."

He pulled on his sneakers, took Dash's hand and kissed the - mark on the back of it, then moved to leave. He found the backpack he'd left by the door, and slung it over one shoulder.

"You gonna be okay getting home?" Dash asked. "This town gets kinda strange this time of night."

"I'll be fine," Marshall said. "I've been fighting the forces of weirdness here since before I met you, remember? It's not like I need you to escort me to my own front door."

"Better be fine," Dash muttered. "You wind up dead in a ditch somewhere, I don't want to deal with your sidekick blaming me." 

"I'll try to spare you the inconvenience." Marshall turned to go, and then turned back toward Dash. “Hey, Simon and I are having some friends over to watch the _Return of the Bloody Revenge of the Mummy’s Curse_ remake tonight.”

"Have fun with that?” Dash said, as if he wasn't sure how to respond.

"For purposes of this invitation, assume you're included in 'friends.'"

"I thought I was your nemesis?"

"You're Simon's friend. And I might be willing to make the occasional one-time exception on bad movie night."

"Hmm. Is you doing that thing with your tongue you did last night also part of this invitation?"

"Um, not in front of everybody. But stay after the movie and find out." 

Dash didn't answer directly. Instead, he pulled the blankets over his head, and curled up on his side. "See you around, Teller," he said from beneath them.

"See you around, X." 

Marshall laughed to himself as the door to the old mill creaked shut behind him, startling a couple of jackalopes grazing nearby. He watched the moonlight glint off their antlers as they bounded away, then started toward home and what passed for his normal life.


End file.
